Counting Stars and Ammunition
by LoveHasNoBounds
Summary: *The title inspiration: Counting Stars - Nujabes Zahra Wyatt is saved by the infamous Winchester family from being turned into a chew toy of a newly turned werewolves. Surprisingly, John extends an invitation to make Zahra full-fledge hunter under Winchester name to save her from an abusive family. And like an idiot, she falls for John Winchester. Not Sam or Dean; but daddio John.
1. Prologue

"Please, Mr. Winchester, let me wrap your hand up." I pleaded, looking at the stubborn man who was literally vibrating in rage. "You can't do anything with that hand if you don't wrap it. Do you want an infection? Because that is how infection happens and when infection happens, gangrene, then amputation—"

I tried not to flinch when his dark eyes swiveled to me but I flinched anyway. He saw it then he sighed, his eyes softening. He raised his injured hand to me and I quickly grabbed the medical kit before he could change his mind. I gingerly took his hand placed it on my thigh, using it as a table. With a bottle of water, I poured it over his bloody hand.

With a hiss, he clutched my thigh tightly. "Sorry!" I apologized, trying to ignore the blood running down my thigh and his huge hand clutching it. Once the blood was gone, I grabbed the alcohol swabs then glanced at John who was eyeing me. "This might hurt like shit."

"Honey, I have been doing this for a while. Few cuts ain't going to hurt me." he said, laughing, his deep voice making my insides curl. I just gave him a soft smile as I removed the suture needle and thread, trying my best not to react to his hand on my thigh. _So close, yet so far._ "Are you afraid of me, Zahra?" I snapped my head up to meet his dark ones in surprise.

"No? _No!_ What makes you think that, Mr. Winchester?" I asked, hurriedly, pausing at the patch up so I wouldn't hurt him unintentionally.

"Because you flinch every time I turn towards you and how many times I have to ask you to call me John?" he remarked, causing me to blush. "I haven't done anything to hurt you, am I right? I can admit that I am a right asshole most of the time," which made me giggle and he winked at me, "but… you will tell me if I went overboard?"

"The only reason I flinch is that you are a very intense man, J-John. Dean looks up to you so much and Sam looks up to Dean… sometimes. I just know that you are a man not to be trifled with." I answered as honestly as I can, trying not to make my voice breathy. "Intense doesn't mean scary, just for your information. I mean it in a way that if you were to walk into a room, the whole room will be filled with your presence."

I looked up to see how he reacted when my eyeballs almost popped out of my head. John Winchester, the most wanted hunter in the world, was blushing. Realizing he got caught, he cleared his throat and looked away. "My presence, huh?"

"I don't like seeing you mad, either." I added, smiling. "So, don't go getting a big ego, mister."

"Yes, ma'am. I won't shout at you." John promised, saluting, then he sighed as his shoulders dropped. "I just wished that Dean wouldn't just bench me because I got an injury."

"You would have done the same if the roles were reversed." I quipped then became smaller when he looked at me. "Dean told me how you came back to life — still can't wrap my head around it — and I just think he doesn't want to lose you again. You got to trust Dean, John. He can do this."

John was silent throughout my speech. "I mean, I don't know all the specifics and I am sure you are like 'he shouldn't be sentimental and all that' and from the way he looks at you, he freaking loves you even though he doesn't say it because he is a stubborn asshole like you. _Not that you are an asshole_." I corrected hurriedly, turning around to fetch another suture thread, not realizing that I shifted closer to him. I sat back straight and fed the thread through the needle, not realizing how dangerously close his hand got. "I don't think he can handle you dying again."

It was quiet as I finished stitching him up. After stitching, I applied bandages. That's when I realized how close his fingers were and I tucked my head closer to my chest to hide my blush. "Alright. You all patched up, mister. Nothing too crazy with that hand or else all my hard work is for nothing."

I stood up with the packed medical kit, watching and feeling how his hand grazed my leg as it fell. I hurriedly left for the bathroom to put away the kit, releasing the trapped breath I holding back. One little move would have made his finger touch my mound… I covered my face as the blush threatened to take over. I slapped my face to get my face under control. _Come on, he didn't even notice and you are making a big deal out of it!_

"Why are you slapping yourself?"

I squeaked as John's voice surprised me. He was standing by the bathroom door… watching me slap myself. "Uh… to amp myself up." I answered, lamely. "Amp myself up to go to sleep, yes."

He looked like I went crazy but shook his head. "I will listen to you, Zahra, and not call Dean. But if he doesn't call or be here by this time around tomorrow—"

"You can bend me over and snap my back in half. I will give you permission for that." The words came out faster than my mind could process. _Um. What. _Okay, brain, I thought you were on my side?

Before she could stuff herself under her covers to hide her embarrassment, the apartment boomed with Winchester patriarch's laughter.


	2. Chapter One

CHAPTER ONE  
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The three werewolves stood in front of me, cocking their head to the side, confused. If I wasn't in danger and this was some kind of kink play foursome, I would think these three men looked like confused dogs with wide eyes. They whispered to themselves, almost looking disappointed. Oh, wow, I am a disappointment to monsters as well? Great to know that I am well liked. They just eyed me weirdly then left.

"What will I do _now?!_"

**A few hours earlier…**

I leaned against the cool locker in the girls changing room, breathing hard. My face felt hot and I could feel the sweat from my sweat-soaked hair run down past my the opening of my jersey. Someone settled down next to me on the bench and began to unlock their locker. I turned to my locker mate to see Trisha looking just as hot as I feel. I slumped down beside her and pressed my shoulder against hers.

"Mrs. Buccaneer must have been pissed at her husband again." I noted, causing Trisha to let out a tired laugh. "God, she works us to the ground."

"I think it is the fact that a game is coming up." Trisha added, removing her sweat-ridden jersey and threw it in her bag. Following her actions, I unlocked my locker and grabbed my duffel bag out of the cell. I just removed the jersey top and took a foldable fan and began to wave it over me.

"You are not going to take shower here?" Trisha asked and I shook my head, feeling the slight fingers of dread going up my spine.

"Nah, I have to go home fast and do some chores. I will take a shower at home." I said, hurriedly, prompting me to slip on my tank top I was wearing for school and begin packing my duffel to take home with me.

"Zahra," Trisha called out, her voice serious and worried, causing me to turn around to face her, "you are alright, right? Everything good at home?"

"Of course!" I said, quickly and happily — maybe too happily? Too much enthusiasm? "Why do you ask?"

Trisha looked uncomfortable. "Er… no reason, Zahra." She mumbled out, looking away. I bit my lower lip, worrying. Trisha looked up at me and smiled. "We should hang out soon, though. There is this bomb sushi place I found last week with Troy that I think you will love as well."

"Wow! I will let you know when I can hang out." The lie came out smoother causing me to feel guilty at Trisha's excited face. Trisha and I finished getting ready, waiting for Mrs. Buccaneer to come out to dismiss us all.

When she did, Trisha turned towards me quickly, causing me to yelp in surprise. "Zahra, my mom knows someone from social work personally. I know you have problems in your house — I know the signs. Please, for the safety of yourself, come talk to me or to my mom. I can't force you, so, please. You have my number." Trisha implored, looking deep into my eyes. "I know it is easy for me to say it, but please, don't be scared."

With that, Trisha turned around and walked out of the locker room. I choked out the breath that was trapped in my lungs throughout her speech. I thought I was hiding it well but if Trisha — head-in-the-clouds Trisha — can figure it out, who else can? I tried to school my features but it was proving hard when the image of dad came up in my head. _Shit_, if I let someone else figure out that the situation at home … isn't at it's best, putting that very lightly, then dad will find out.

"_Fuck_." I whispered to myself, finally getting out of the locker that began to feel slightly claustrophobic. I cleared my throat as I went to my locker that held my backpack. I checked if I got all the homework I need and shouldered it, groaning at added weight to my sore legs. I got to get home and make some steak if I want him in a good mood and not drunk.

I saw Trisha with some of our friends by the gates of the school. She held my gaze as I waved bye to them and I looked away hurriedly. I knew she had good intentions but the only way I could be free of that man is when I turn 18 and that is two weeks away! I can endure that long. I had already looked at apartments (via the school library's computers) and have saved up the first two months of rent from my part-time job.

There were times I hated that I was one of the few kids who didn't have a car to ride to school but then there were times I loved it because I didn't have to be home fast. It was around March, almost the end of the school year — almost graduation time! — the weather wasn't too cold or too hot. Walking home was so straight forward that I could daydream and still go where I want to go.

Trisha's word kept on ringing through my head. _Don't be scared; call me when you want out_. When did she realize that I was being abused? How did she find out? Usually, dad wasn't physically abusive; his weapon was mental and verbal abuse but there were days were his hands came to play. If they didn't like me, why did they adopt me? It is true the most foster kids are abused in the foster system. I shook my head. The thing was… the abuse was gradual. Dad wasn't like this few years ago but he got laid off and took to drinking his woes away.

When his bills kept on piling up because he wasn't working and was busying trying to reach the bottom of the bottle, he realized that his anger couldn't be appeased by the alcohol only. Guess who was next? Ding, ding, ding. Me. I didn't realize it because it was the small things at first like the state of my dress or hair. I just thought he was worried about me then it became vaguely hidden insults then full blown insults. It might not hurt me at the beginning but the continuous barrage of insults kept on wearing me down until the words weren't enough for him.

The first physical hit was when I accidentally talked back to him.

He was groaning about how there wasn't that much food and I quipped back saying that if he found a job, there would be food in the house. Bad mistake. His hand was so fast that I didn't feel it for the first five seconds. He apologized before I went to sleep but the hits became regular whereas the apologies became rare.

The sudden sound of tires screeching from behind me snapped me out of my thoughts. "What the—" I yelled out, turning around fast just to see a nondescript gray van heading towards me, the side door opening to reveal two men reaching out towards me. I screamed out in terror, dropping my duffel bag to the ground. I turned around and began to run, my backpack hitting my lower back. Deciding that my life was more important than my homework, I removed my backpack as well, giving me less weight to carry. But it didn't matter, hands grabbed at my shirt yanked me back. Other hand found its way to my hair and yanked it back, causing me to yowl in pain.

The men growled — _growled? _— "Grab her, fucking idiots! Marcus wants fresh blood tonight!" I kicked my legs out, trying to twist in their grips but the one grabbing my hair had a tight grip. The one gripping the back of my shirt let go, releasing me for maybe three seconds before wrapping both arms around my waist. I screamed out, trying to get someone, _anyone_, attention but my mouth was covered with a very large hand and — _it smelled like meat?_

"Let me go! Let me go!" I tried to cry out but it was muffled behind the man's smelly hand. In no time they had pulled me into the van, closing the door and the sounds of it closing sound like the _Law and Order_ 'dun dun' music in my head. They threw me down on the floorboard of the van and I looked up to see the two men looming over me.

"What's up? Where are we going?" I asked, hysterically. I swallowed as I watched the two men look at each, shrug then looked back at me. My mouth dropped open when their nails fucking grew like claws and their teeth turned pointy and their eyes turned yellow… _What the fuck?_ Deciding that making the situation less scary than it probably is by joking around will hopefully calm me down, I smiled. "You guys look kinda cool."

They cocked their head to the side like a dog would and growls emanated deep within their chest. "Not a fan of the compliment?" I asked again, biting my lower lip. "Look, um, wanna chat?"

"Shut that bitch up!" the driver growled out and one of the left bared his teeth, pulling out a white cloth and bottle of clear liquid. I am betting that it is not water.

"I will go to sleep!" I cried out as I watched him pour the liquid into the white cloth. As he walked closer, I tried to crawl back but you could go so far when two huge men take half of the van's space. I tried to avoid the foul-smelling cloth but he grabbed my head, his claws threatening to pierce the skin on my forehead. I tried to hold my breath as he smashed the cloth against my nose and mouth but after a minute of struggling, I was forced to take a deep inhale, letting the noxious fumes burn as it was inhaled.

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The '67 Chevy Impala roared through the big streets of Las Vegas, Nevada around 2 in the afternoon. The muscular car turned a few heads as it passed, the occupants either not caring or knew the beauty of their car. In the passenger seat, Dean Winchester, guided the driver, their father, John Winchester, to a nearby cheap hotel as the younger member of the family, Sam Winchester, sat in the back, having a page opened in a lore book.

It didn't take too long to pinpoint the cheap motel for Las Vegasian standard — three nights maxed out their stolen credit card perfectly. The room they could afford had been their best yet and Dean took full advantage by falling on top of a bed, sighing joyously. John simply shook his head at his elder son's behavior.

"Are we not going to look at the case?" Sam inquired, stepping out from the bathroom.

"Nah, it's daylight. Let's take a rest before we hit the files, boys." John instructed, removing his boots. "We can't do much if we can barely keep our eyes open." Sam gave him that point. "You can't say you are tired because you fell asleep in the car."

Sam just smirked at that. "I will still take a nap on the couch." Sam decided, falling on the couch, not bothering to remove his boots. Cause him being tall as sasquatch, Sam's legs dangled over the arm of the couch. They didn't say much before sleep took over them. Each of them having their own nightmares from their own hell experience.

After an hour and a half, John Winchester woke up with a sharp gasp, looking around to see if anyone was awake with him. Sam was already awake, looking over case files. Sam didn't comment and John didn't explain. If Winchester were known for something other than hunting, it was that they were great at bottling emotions. Once coming out of the bathroom, John whacked Dean on his leg, causing the stockier man to snap up awake, drool at the corner of his mouth.

"Wake up. We need to head to the grocery store." John groused, causing the dutiful son to immediately get off the bed. John looked at Sammy and pointed at the case files. "What do they tell you?"

"Telltale signs of a werewolf. The victims are a couple of homeless guys with their hearts ripped out." Sam summarized, closing the files down. "But so few victims over three months time. Maybe a small pack?"

"Or victims that haven't been found yet." John added and Sam huffed in agreement. Dean walked out, combing his hair with his fingers.

"Let's get some grub! Hungry like a starved wolfie." Dean commented then looked at his family reaction at the analogy, but when he saw blank faces, he sobered up. "No? Alright. Let's go." John slapped his thighs before he got up, picking up a 9mm pistol with silver bullets and a silver hunting knife. Dean and Sam followed his movements, packing their own heat.

Finding the largest grocery store — Tal-Mart — was easy enough with a huge billboard shaped like an arrow pointing at it and they could see it from the highway. The grocery was packed and John split his kids up to find information and grab some grub. John slowly walked up to a group of middle-aged ladies and threw them his charming smile that made one of them blush. He grabbed a couple of cans of beans as they turned around to face each other.

"Have you heard? You know, Naomi Wyatt? Wife of that asshole Hank Wyatt? Apparently, she was going around asking if they have seen her daughter, Zahra. She never returned from school and we all know how much of a control freak Hank is." One of the ladies said, worried. "I wonder where Zahra is now."

"Probably ran away. Since he lost his job, Zahra was Hank's next victim. I still don't understand why Naomi doesn't just take her and run away." The other lady said, "Zahra is one of the top students and a great soccer player … she probably wishes that she was never adopted by them." John had heard enough, his mouth tasting bit acidic at the mention of the abuse. Grabbing the needed cans, he left the aisle and walked towards the sweet area where he will most likely find Dean.

What do you know? John was right. As he walked closer to Dean, Sam also came from the liquor aisle, looking disturbed. The three men congregated together. "One missing girl —"

"Zahra." Dean and Sam both said it at the same time.

"You think the hairy boys took her?" Dean asked, looking at the cherry pie in his hands.

"If so, why change victims?" Sam asked, looking confused. "Don't they stay with the same types of victims?"

Dean shrugged. "Maybe, they had enough of malnourished hearts and want something juicier?'

"She is a soccer player, seventeen. Comes from an abusive household. Did not come home from school today." John surmised what he had heard then sighed. "Good heart right there. You said the victims were found around the deep, deep, downtown area?"

Sam nodded. "Several abandoned warehouses." He added and John stood up straighter. He took the pie box from Dean's hand and turned around.

"Let's go. We have silver in the back, right, Dean?" John asked, heading towards the self-checkout area. "We are not going to want to waste more time."

"Yes, we are all stocked up on silver and normal bullets. Why hurry? As it sucks to say this but why would they wait to kill and eat her?" Dean remarked as they all walked down towards the Impala.

"Oh, I don't know, Dean, to save her or attempt to save her?" Sam said, sarcastically. Dean glared at Sam for being right then shook his shoulders. Sam simply let out a huff before turning serious. "There are more than one warehouses. We probably have to split up to reach her in time."

"No splitting up." John growled out sternly. "It is a pack we are dealing with. We stay together. We don't know if they are just turned or they are a couple of years old." Dean and Sam had to agree with their dad; last time they tried to be cocky about it, they had fought werewolves that were 50+ years old. The fact that they had lived for that long meant that their leader was one of the few that knew how to act and lead like a werewolf.

John scolded Dean to save some pie for the rest of them but quieted down when they came upon the area where most of the victims were found. "Open your eyes and search." John ordered. Both Dean and Sam turned off their playful nature and replaced it with a hardened soldier persona. As much as Sam loved the Impala, he just wished that they had got a quieter car.

"There!" Dean hissed out, pointing at the abandoned warehouse with flaking red pain and rusty pipelines. Through the frosted glass (design or years of disuse), they saw the flickering of golden light and a couple of people walking past the source of light, creating dark shadows. John immediately turned the car off and watched the glass for a few seconds. A nondescript gray van was parked in the alley between the warehouses.

"Let's get ready." John dictated, then all three of them got out of the car and headed towards the trunk of the car. Dean popped the trunk and flipped open the trap door that used to cover the spare tire, propping it open with a crowbar. In front of them, laid out their arsenal. From rock salt to sawed-off shotguns, there is a reason why some hunters feared the Winchesters. They all grabbed what they need — shotguns and machetes — with a handful of silver shotshells in their pockets.

"Let's go through the alleyway. There is always a door on the sides of these types of buildings."

They found the aforementioned door but yet better, they found fire escape ladder. Dean went first, Sam second, and John last. They saw a broken window and carefully climbed through making sure the jagged glasses don't cut their family jewels and attract the monsters. Thankfully, the second floor was made out of cement to silence their footfalls. It didn't take them too long to find where the fire was and they crouched down behind the railing, looking at the scene before them.

Sam tugged on John's sleeve, pointing at the corner. John and Dean looked at the corner and their eyes widen. A young lady was tied to a pole with her hands tied above her head. She wasn't bleeding or anything, not even crying. She was simply watching the three werewolves move about. They watched as the girl cleared her throat.

"So, um, seeing that you are werewolves, you have like a big daddy or something?" John raised his eyebrows at the girl's weirdly worded question.

One of the werewolves stopped his pacing to look at her. "Wha — _no. _He is called an Alpha. 'Big daddy'?" He said, incredulous, shaking his head. "Can't wait to let Marcus know about his big daddy status."

All three hunters looked at each other in surprise: why were the werewolves keeping her alive? And why wasn't she scared? Could this be Zahra?

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"Oh, I am sorry. I am not hundred percent brought up to date about hierarchy in a werewolf pack." I said, dryly, moving my body to be more comfortable.

I had woken up tied up half hour ago — or that is what it felt like. My arms hurt from being tied above my head. The first thing I made sure that I was dressed. I tried to breathe slowly, trying to stamp down on my rising fear. I wanted to cry, too. First dad, now this? What are they planning to do with me? But they are _werewolves_… something that should be found in movies but here they were, pacing around the room.

"So, if you guys are real, then vampires and witches, too?" I asked and one of them — Derek, I think — nods at me. "I am going to die so you can tell me more?"

The three men looked at me in surprise. The one with oily blond hair cleared his throat. "There are ghosts, ghouls, fairies, skinwalkers, much more. There are demons and angels. But my question is… why aren't you scared or crying?"

I tried to shrug but couldn't. "Crying won't change anything. I am scared. I would prefer not to die at this age but how could I protect myself from the supernatural?" _When I can't even fight my dad_ was left unsaid. "So, what are you going to do to me? I would really prefer if you killed me instead of raping me."

"We… um… we will eat your heart. The first taste goes to our leader." Derek answered, then rubbed his stomach. "I am so hungry, though. It's been a week since the last homeless man. Homeless men heart don't taste good, though."

"Why do you have to wait for your leader when you do all the work?" I asked then shook my head. "Y'all need to have a union strike or something."

"Yeah, why does he get the first taste? He goes around fucking girls while we work hard." The last guy whined, the bald one, pouting. "I haven't been with a girl for a while." He looked at me and I cringed at his attention. "Oi, I won't touch you! I like girls with bigger tits!"

I scoffed, offended. "Not my fault." I mumbled, looking down at my non-existent chest. The guys began to discuss their unequal rights in the pack and I lost in interest. I slowly looked around the warehouse. As my eyes followed the second-floor railing, my eyes caught the three hunched figures, hiding behind the rail. I caught the eye of the middle one somehow and he lifted his finger to his lips.

I immediately looked away. "Do you eat the heart raw or you cook it with salt and pepper? Garlic powder kicks everything up a notch. Throw in some red pepper flakes and yum!"

"What is the brat talking about, Steve?" The new voice scared all of us and we turned to look at the newcomer. A man that looked like the next top model for Vogue's magazine stood by the entrance of the warehouse. His aura was threatening and I audibly swallowed. He had dark skin with green eyes. He would be really amazing if it weren't for the fangs peeking out from under his lips. I wasn't in the mood to swoon over my killer.

"I am guessing he is the leader?" I asked, weakly, looking at Derek. He nodded, looking at me, then back to his leader. I gave out a nervous chuckle. "I can see why he gets the first bite."

"Why is she still talking? She should have been dead by now." Marcus asked, walking closer to his pack, glaring at me.

"But, Leader, we thought you would like to kill her." Steve, the bald-headed one, said. Oh, how nice of them to have their boss in mind. And thanks for that! They were just prolonging my death… does fear make your heart taste better or what?

Marcus growled loudly. "I am in no mood of little girls screaming." Marcus cried out, making the three men flinch. He slowly turned towards me, growing his fangs and claws out. The panic I was trying to settle down? Broke free from my control and rushed through my body. I pull my legs closer to my chest and began to hyperventilate. Tears brimmed my vision as Marcus prowled towards me.

"Look-look-_look_, let's talk, okay? Have you ever thought about modeling? You should!" I cried out loudly, kicking my legs out when he took a threatening step towards me. "My heart is _so_ not tasty! You should see how much fat I eat. I am like two steps away from hypertension. Or — _or!_ I could show you my legendary skills on the flute!"

That stopped him. Marcus raised an eyebrow, incredulous. "A flute?"

"You never heard a sick solo played on a flute?" I asked in disbelief. Marcus looked disgusted at that thought. "I strongly believe a flute should be on par with a piano."

Marcus scoffed, reeling back. "A flute? _Fuck no_. Annoying as shit. How the fuck is a tube on par with a _piano_? Are you sniffing crack during breakfast time?" Marcus asked fast, looking outright offended. "It takes years of practice to become one with the piano!"

"My lungs have great muscles from blowing so hard! _Let's ignore the fact that the statement sounded weird._" I said, causing Marcus to slap his face then turned to his men.

"Of all the people in this goddamned city, you had to bring me this clown?!" _Clown? Not only he is going to eat my heart, but he also calls me a clown?_ Who does he — "A flute? A flute!"

"Sorry, boss." The three echoed, sounded sullen. "But she is a soccer player. Her heart must be good."

Marcus turned to look at me, rubbing his chin. "Look, that sentence would have been great in metaphorical terms but in literal terms, not so much." I mused out, biting my lower lip. Marcus shook his head. "Let's talk about your weirdly amazing bone structure, alright?"

"Let's not." Marcus grumbled, taking a huge step towards me and going down on knee beside me. He was so close that I could smell his scent which was meat, perfume, cheap cologne, and stale cigarettes. "You are a cool girl, honey, but I am really hungry. I hope you understand." My eyes went to his pack and they looked guilty and sad. Sad!

I didn't say anything. When will those three hunched men do something? Are they waiting for me to die? Before I could question anymore, I watched Marcus pulled his hand back, claws out, pointing towards my chest. "You are not going to kill me before you break my chest?!" I cried out, "How unfair!"

Marcus's growl and the rumble in his stomach made me close my eyes, not wanting to be funny anymore. But before anything could happen, a loud bang suddenly boomed through the warehouse, making my ears ring. A hot liquid that smelled like rust splashed all over my face. It took a second to feel someone had slumped over me. I don't need to be a rocket scientist to figure out what exactly happened.


End file.
